


If this was an apocalypse I would not need any tips

by ninthgymleader



Category: Be More Chill - Iconis/Tracz
Genre: Action & Romance, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - College/University, Bisexual Jeremy Heere, Canon Compliant, Coming Out, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Gay Michael Mell, Implied/Referenced Blow Jobs, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Panic Attacks, Pining, Post-Squip, Quidditch, Recreational Drug Use, Roommates, but like briefly, gratuitous pop culture references, they play quidditch, yes you heard that right
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-21 07:32:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14911064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ninthgymleader/pseuds/ninthgymleader
Summary: “How do you know I’m not just amassing a giant squirrel army, so I can take down Thanos?”“How would a squirrel army help with Thanos?”“Because Squirrel Girl always wins dude. Read the comics!"Or the one where Michael and Jeremy share a dorm room, get high with their buddy Rich, and stop another SQUIP-pocalypse in the process.





	1. Squirrels Have No Fear

**Author's Note:**

> I listened to the BMC soundtrack for the first time four days ago. Now I'm in boyf riends hell. Wrote this mostly to get the idea out of my system. Not beta'd, so let me know if there are any glaring typos. Will try to update in a timely manner but school exists, so we'll see. Hope you guys enjoy.
> 
> EDIT: I've made a couple of edits since I've first posted, mostly just to clean up typos but also to help provide clarity regarding POV. POV still rotates, however each segment is character specific now so you get one person's thought process at a time instead of everyone's.

“Ever noticed how college squirrels have no fear?”

Michael is only half paying attention when Jeremy asks the question. Instead he is preoccupied with running his fingers through the area rug adorning their floor. He counts five different triangles patterned though the rug, three yellow ones around its perimeter, one in the negative space, and one from putting them all together. In his current haze, he finds he likes those last two the most. They’re doing their own thing. He gets that.

“True,” Michael says, elongating the word beyond what’s necessary, “I was on the quad yesterday when one of them marched straight up to me and begged for my last Maki roll.”

“Well, did you give him your food?” Jeremy leans his head off the bed, signaling to Michael to pass him the bowl. He puts it up to Jeremy’s mouth, making his friend’s life easier. Jeremy takes a sharp inhale before letting out a cloud of smoke.

“Yeah, I couldn’t say no to the little guy. He was too adorable.” Michael smiles to himself. _Just like someone else I know._

“I knew you were a furry,” Jeremy sputters through a cough, half from laughing, half from the smoke.

“Am not!”

“You make a _hewwo_ joke at least once an hour.”

“I make them ironically!”

“Once an hour?” Jeremy goes to inhale again but the smoke isn’t as strong.

“Hold this,” Michael gives the bowl to Jeremy, grabs his lighter and rekindles the nub. Jeremy has never been the most dexterous guy, even burning himself once, so Michael usually does it for him. He continues their earlier conversation without pause, “How do you know I’m not just amassing a giant squirrel army, so I can take down Thanos?”

“How would a squirrel army help with Thanos?”

“Because Squirrel Girl always wins dude. Read the comics!”

They both laugh at that. Jeremy has indeed read the New Avengers and is aware of the squirrel girl meme. After all it was Michael who practically forced him to read the series. Wiccan and Hulkling have become a low-key obsession of his, a quite literal gay power couple that’s saved the world more times than he can count. Even though Jeremy is straight, Michael needed someone he could gush over them to and for the most part Jeremy’s indulged him.

_I can never tell him, can I?_

He looks over at his best friend, never more certain of the crush he’s harboring for him. In moments like this where Jeremy’s completely uninhibited, where everything is almost like it was before, is when Michael has the most trouble keeping those thoughts at bay. He watches his friend giggle for what feels like hours when suddenly they hear a loud noise down the hall. 

“Dude, what was that?” Jeremy coughs, turning his head towards the door.

Michael picks his head up of the bedframe and follows Jeremy’s eyes toward the door. He grabs  
his lighter and takes the bowl from Jeremy’s hand, not wanting the taller boy to drop it. He takes a quick hit from the bowl while keeping his eyes glued to the door, skillfully lighting up without looking. After a few seconds he shrugs and makes a noncommittal, ‘I don’t know’ sound. Jeremy turns back to him with a worried look in his eyes. Suddenly they hear the noise again.

“Shit, I know those footsteps...” Jeremy jumps up fast, grabbing the little plastic baggie of weed while scanning the room for a hiding spot. “It’s the RA. Quick Michael, grab the Febreze!”

Michael hops up in unison when he hears the noise, “Jeremy, creaky floorboard!” He points under his bed, signaling the loose panel of flooring they uncovered earlier in the semester. He runs to the windowsill where they keep the Febreze and dumps the bowl’s contents into the planter sitting next to it. He lifts the lip of his beanie and stashes the bowl underneath. Jeremy laughed so hard the first time he did that, but when the RA patted down all his pockets and glossed over his hat it was Michael who had the last laugh.

Jeremy meanwhile appears to be inputting his phone’s passcode for the second time. Michael wonders if he can’t remember the passcode or is just missing the right numbers. Regardless, he’s probably forgot which floorboard is the loose one. 

“Left side dude, next to the Mudkip plushie!” Michael whispers, not wanting the RA to hear. In a stroke of luck, Jeremy gets it on his third try, turns on his flashlight and hops under the bed. The lankier boy moves to Michael’s right, the light from his phone following him. “Shit Jere, other left! I forgot which way I was facing.”

Jeremy groans and readjusts, moving through discarded clothes, empty shoe boxes, a plate of leftover pizza crusts, “Damnit Michael, you need to clean under your bed!”

“I was getting around to it!”

“When, before or after Winter break?”

“Did you find the board or not?” Michael refocuses him to the task at hand. He can hear the footsteps getting louder.

“Yeah, I see it, just give me a second…” Jeremy groans again as the floorboard creaks, “It’s almost starting to budge…” his voice is strained, “Got it!” He climbs out from under the bed and collapses on top of it as Michael sprays enough Febreze to convince a blindfolded actor they’re near the ocean. “Question. Why did we ever stop going to gym? I thought we promised to get muscles this year?”

“Because running is the devil’s exercise.”

“Really, because I remember hating the weights more than cardio.”

Michael nearly has a nice quip to that, but it dies on his tongue. He’s too busy listening to the sudden knock on the door. They stare at each other for an inordinate amount of time, color rising to both of their cheeks as the tension mounts.

 _“Should I check the peephole?”_ Michael asks the question with nothing but his body, pointing his head towards the door and communicating the rest of it with his eyes.

 _“No, I’ll check it.”_ Jeremy gives his answer with a simple no nod and a feather light motion towards the door. Michael may be closer to it than Jeremy, but his footsteps are also louder. They want to maintain the plausible deniability of both boys being at class or asleep.

They hear a second knock.

_Shit_

Jeremy is almost done tip-toeing his way over when a third knock is heard followed by a  
command in quick succession.

“Open up, it’s the PETA Police!” a familiar voice echoes from behind the door, “I heard you both were fucking some squirrels,” the voice adds, earning a groan from both boys.

“Oh my god, Rich?” Michael’s eyebrows shoot up in a manner so comical it makes Jeremy smile from across the room. His body immediately relaxes, and he pulls off his beanie to retrieve his bowl.

Jeremy has seemed to relax as well, but not without his trademark confused look. “Rich, what are you doing here? How did you hear our conversation earlier? And why do you walk just like our RA” Michael stares at Jeremy and sighs. That look is just so Jeremy, he has no idea what it does to him. Jeremy misses the sigh, his attention back on Rich as he opens the door.

“One. I’m home early for Turkey Day. You idiots knew I was coming, you gave me your room number.” A short spiky-haired man enters the room, taking off his leather jacket and draping it on one of the desk chairs. “Two. You guys are a fuck-ton louder than you think you are. And numero C, magic, that’s why.”

“We did?” Michael and Jeremy speak in unison before both turning away from each other. Michael 

“Yeah, check the group chat from two days ago…” Rich says, incredulous and with a minor bite but no real malice.

“Which group chat?” Jeremy questions, “The one with all of us, the one with just the guys, or the one with everyone minus Jenna?”

Michael winces, feeling less than stellar about the existence of that last one, but it’s a necessary evil in case the group needs to discuss anything that isn’t privy to the whole school. Suddenly it dawns on Michael, “OHHH!” he interjects, “ _That group chat?_ Jere, I know which one he’s talking about. Check ‘Dicks and SQUIPS,’ the all-guys one,” Putting SQUIP in the group chat names also came with an amount of controversy, but over time it become a sort of group exposure therapy. If they could joke about it in a group chat name they could at least start to cope with it.

Jeremy opens his phone to search for the legendary warning. He waits for his messenger app to load while Michael laughs to no one and everyone. He eventually continues, “I thought you were kidding about coming man? I can never tell with the way you text.”

“Oh yeah totally, the screenshot of my flight time was a just a practical joke meant to fuck with you two homos.”

Michael is too preoccupied thinking of a witty response to realize that Jeremy’s eyes have gone wide at Rich’s comment. He looks over to see if Jeremy might stir some inspiration, but the other boy quickly diverts his attention back to his phone, buries his face into deep into the group chat that Michael completely misses him blushing. 

“Hey, no fair Rich, reclaiming homos as a term of endearment is my thing. You need to call us…’bi-mos’ or…something like that…” Michael, high as a kite, slurs those last three words before laughing so hard at his own joke his legs give out. Well, not like dangerous give out. They give out in the way that limbs do when something is hilarious, or upsetting, or just poignant. The way they just flop or fall over because you’re focusing all of your attention on not throwing up or peeing or some other embarrassing bodily function. That kind of give out.

“That’s not a word idiot. I thought you of all nerds would know that,” Rich teases. Shade that’s simultaneously a compliment and an insult has become a specialty of his.

“It’s not because you haven’t reclaimed it yet, that’s why!”

Michael’s laughing is infectious. Jeremy starts giggling, nearly losing focus but he manages to stay on task. “Found it! Oh shit, sorry Rich, I totally read this message and it just didn’t register. I was mad anxious for an exam the next day.”

“Whatever, I’m here now. Are we going to smoke or what? And don’t lie to me, I know you have some Mell. It wouldn’t smell this much like Febreze if you didn’t.”

“Shit, cover’s blown.” Jeremy’s giggle fit starts to worsen.

“Well if we had known you were coming, we would have done more to clean than just spray Febreze.” Michael still hasn’t left the floor, preferring to roll on their area rug tearing up from all the laughter. “Maybe we should burn incense instead next time?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s more obvious. Nothing says, ‘we’re stoned out of our minds’ quite like peppermint mocha incense.” Jeremy says.

‘Mm, but that would smell so good though!” Michael smiles, holding his stomach. “I could really go for one of those. December needs to arrive faster, I want bougie coffee.”

Rich finally decides to interject, “Well? Are the three of us hanging out or what?”

* * *

Jeremy is excited to catch up with Rich. Of all the SQUIP Squad members, he’s probably the one him and Michael are closest with. Jeremy due to their shared experience with the SQUIP being the longest, Michael from visiting them both in the hospital. 

“So, did you nerds decide on majors?” Rich asks. It’s small talk, but good small talk.

His excitement however doesn’t stop Jeremy from zoning out. He had just spent the last minute or so counting the ceiling tiles, nine going vertical, ten going horizontal, and then two weird extra tiles because of the way the closet’s built. He doesn’t know why he thinks it, but he realizes he likes those two tiles the best.

“Yeah, computer science with a minor in graphic design.” Michael finishes repacking the bowl and passes it over to Rich, “I want to make video games for a living, but web dev is my backup plan,” Michael iterates before adding, “You know, appease my ‘I just want you to be practical’ old man.”

Jeremy winces at that. He sees the shit economy they’re in, so he gets Michael’s dad, but he also wants to see his friend fulfilled and following his dreams. “Your games are so good though dude, I’m sure you’ll totally make it as a dev.” Michael looks down and rubs his neck, trying not to give away how his eyes lit up at hearing it. Jeremy misses it unfortunately, having turned his attention to Michael’s laptop over on the desk. “You should show Rich the RPG you’re working on!”

“Nah dude, it’s not even that good, or even close to finished.” Michael’s face flushes of color. He only showed Jeremy the game because of how excited it made him. And because he trusts Jeremy. His stuff isn’t near good enough to show anyone else.

“What do you mean Mikey, you had that whole weapon sharing mechanic, and the mage designs are the coolest things I’ve ever seen.”

“It’s fine Mell, you don’t have to show me yet. Just make sure I get a free copy when its in early access.” Rich lights up the bowl and takes a sharp inhale, following it up with a seamless smoke ring. “What about you Heere, you know what you want to do?”

“Woah Rich, where the hell did you learn to do that?” Michael asks.

“Sucking dick,” Rich deadpans, smirking as he says it.

Jeremy and Michael respond in perfect sync, except the former says, “Oh my god,” while the latter answers with “Yasssssss!”

‘Nah, I’m fucking with you. Well…half fucking. I did learn it from a dude I blew. He sells me weed for half price now.” Rich leers, clearly proud of himself.

“Wait, if you have such a cheap hook up, why the hell are you smoking my weed?” Michael says, feigning anger.

“Because I’m a guest, that’s why!” Rich turns from Michael to Jeremy, “Now spill it, Heere. You still doing theatre or something else catch your eye.”

“Oh right, yeah,” Jeremy was still caught up in what Rich said. The image of him blowing a guy is…well, far too vivid for his liking. He would normally blame it on the pot, but this has been happening a lot lately. College dudes are a lot more mature, respectful. Nearly half of them have beards. He looks over at Michael and notices the light stubble lining his jaw. _Nope, nope, not going there._

“Jere, you good?” Michael is staring back at Jeremy and he gains a sudden awareness of just how close him and Michael are sitting. _We always sit this close, we’re best friends._

“Yeah Mikey, totally good.” It’s not a lie technically, not if you believe it.  
Jeremy’s fine. He’s fine. I’m fine.

Rich coughs, growing more impatient by the second. “Dude, weed got your tongue or is it a SQUIP thing?” In the two years following The Play, the gang came to a mutual agreement that if someone looks like they need to talk, you offer to talk. The other person can say no, in fact for the first couple months a lot of them did, but the offer was always there. Now most of the SQUIP squad have started going to counseling to some degree, but there’s only so much you can say about a super computer possessing you before things get messy.

So, they talk to each other.

“Nah, it’s not that, I swear. I mean the voice is still there, it’s always there, but it’s been easier to ignore.” It’s not a lie technically, not if half of it is true. 

The SQUIP has been getting easier to ignore…somedays. And somedays the anxious voice, his voice, they’re just impossible to tell apart.

He segues to Rich’s other question. “And uh, yeah…my major. Honestly, I have no clue,” Jeremy laughs, “I thought about sticking with theatre, but that was always Christine’s thing. I don’t know how much I’ll actually like it without her there.” Jeremy and Christine dated up until the end of their senior year. Christine was accepted to study theatre at Columbia while him and Michael wanted to stay in New Jersey to keep their tuition costs down. With both of them going in separate directions the decision to separate was mutual, and the two remained friends, albeit not without some heartbreak on Jeremy’s end. 

“I’m just getting my cores out of the way for now,” Jeremy adds, “Luckily Michael registered the same day. We’re taking chem, calculus, and English comp together. Basically, more high school, but I’m paying too much for it.” Jeremy lets out a laugh with an edge of anxiety to it. This type of introspection overwhelms him, illustrates the daunting gravity of his situation, how he needs to his life figured out before the school’s registrar forces him to.

He thinks about his elective courses, Introduction to Psychology and Introduction to Theater. He chose them both mostly to fill requirements. He expected the latter class to be his favorite, but he hadn’t counted on clicking so much with the former. “I kind of really like my psych class actually, maybe I’ll major in that.” It’s weird being this honest with himself. He decides to go for broke and just keep admitting things. “No idea what I’d do with it though. Maybe counseling? I sometimes think that with a good counselor I might never have never felt the need to buy the stupid SQUIP in the first place.”

Jeremy can’t help but feel that the weed has turned on him. Instead of alleviating his guilt it’s putting it all under a microscope.

“It would be sort of like making amends, you know? Helping others after all the shit I caused.”  
He suddenly notices Michael reaching over to grab his hand. The stockier boy rubs little circles into Jeremy’s palms with comfort and ease. They don’t talk about what this means, they know it’s comforting and that’s all that matters. “You already apologized Jere, you’ve beat yourself up enough.” Michaels eyes seem to plead with him, as to what Jeremy doesn’t quite know. 

“I get it though, wanting to fix things,” Rich interjects, “I don’t think we’ll ever be able to fully fix it, but I get wanting to. I wish I could just rebuild that house from scratch, rebuild the bones in Jake’s legs, go back to 9th grade and tell myself that I didn’t need a SQUIP, that there were two giant nerds in my grade who would make great friends if I just talked to them.”

“Aww, I think he means us Jeremy.” Michael half teases but is half genuinely flattered.

“Shut up Mell, you’re ruining my moment.” Rich jokes back, somewhat grateful for the much-needed levity Michael added. That’s far too many feelings for one day.

Jeremy is just as relieved, he starts giggling again as he reaches over to grab the bowl from Rich. “So, what are you studying man?”

“Actually, that’s the reason I’m home early. I dropped out.” Michael and Jeremy both go wide-eyed. Rich isn’t dumb. Sometimes an ass but not dumb. “Don’t worry, I wasn’t failing or out of money, I just realized what I wanted to do, and I don’t need a liberal arts degree to do it.”

Michael and Jeremy stare at him for what feels like years before either boy responds. Michael cuts in first. “And that is?”

“I’m going to be a firefighter.”

_Oh._

“See, you’re not the only one who wants to make amends Heere.” Rich laughs at his own pun, the weed finally starting to work its magic after a couple hits.

“Don’t you need training for that though?” Jeremy questions, trying his best to avoid coming off like an integrator.

“Yeah, it’s like any police academy training. Maybe I’ll eventually go back and do a Fire Science degree, so I can earn more, but I really just want to start right now and save up some cash before paying for any more school.” Rich finishes his pitch and rests his case.

“Nah yeah, that totally makes sense. Well hey I’m glad you know what you want to do dude.” Jeremy gives his best smile but the idea of Rich getting hurt in another fire doesn’t sit well with him. He looks over at Michael and sees that his sentiments are mirrored on the boy’s face.

“Hey, where the hell are the vending machines. I got mad munchies.” Rich snaps them both back to reality with his question.

“The basement right next to the laundry room. Do you want us to show you?” Michael offers.

“Nah I know where that is. My older brother went here years back so I’m familiar with the general layout, just not the details and shit.”

“Okay cool. Can you buy me a Dr. Pepper and some Cheetos? Here I’ll give you a five.” Michael pulls out his wallet, jet black and emblazoned with the Triforce from The Legend of Zelda.

“Got it. Anything for you Heere?”

“Nah I’m good, Michael and I’ll just share the Cheetos.”

“Um, since when are we sharing?”

“Since I actually chipped in and paid for the weed this time.”

“Fine, point taken. Make sure it’s a big bag Rich. Or grab two, I think five bucks should be enough.”

“On it.” The spiky haired boy salutes before making a grand exit.

* * *

Rich makes his way to the elevator, not wanting to walk down five flights just to grab some junk food. It goes down two floors before stopping at his, he hops in without hesitation. The elevator has one other occupant and she looks rather…out of it. She’s chugging down a Mountain Dew and what looks like…a pill?

_Relax Rich, it’s probably just Adderall, exams and papers got her stressed is all._

Rich is happy with that rationalization. Aside from the other girl the ride down is uneventful. A few more people carrying laundry baskets get on but none of them catch his interests. He's just hoping he doesn’t reek too much of weed. It’s weird though, he can’t shake the feeling of Mountain Dew girl’s eyes boring into him. Luckily, she gets off when they reach the first floor, a big sigh of relief exiting his mouth as he exits the elevator. Still, he feels frazzled. When the elevator touches down in the basement he wastes no time getting off and searches for the laundry room.

Lucky again, he spots the vending machine before the laundry room. _Perfect, less time spent down here the better._

He puts in in the five and buys two bags of Cheetos and a Dr. Pepper. He puts in three quarters and spends the remaining 2.50 on a bag of Fritos and an orange Fanta. Despite his strict diet regimen, he decides a little cheat day won’t hurt him. He grabs all of the snacks and is just about to turn around when he gets ambushed.

Whoever his assailant is, they’re fast. They got something over his eyes in mere seconds and his hands zip tied before he can even begin to react. All he can do is listen, and he hears…a bottle opening? His assailant grabs him by the mouth and opens it wide.

He tastes Mountain Dew.

_Shit_


	2. Chasers Have No Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Obligatory flashback chapter because reasons
> 
> or
> 
> Michael and Jeremy joined a Quidditch team back in August while I try to set up foreshadowing (and fail miserably)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These next two chapters were going to be together but it was kind of long so I separated them. Hope the pacing still works and isn't too weird. The story from before continues in the next chapter.

**Three Months Prior**

“Jeremy, I can’t feel my legs.” Michael is laid out on the grass, eyes closed and panting. His black athletic headband is drenched in sweat and he’s reaching idly for a water bottle just out of his reach. 

“They sure as hell weren’t kidding when they said Quidditch is a real sport.” Jeremy grabs the water bottle and leans down close to Michael, waterfalling the drink into his friends mouth. Michael obliges with little effort as Jeremy glances away, mostly to focus on his own throbbing legs, but in part to quash the imagery of it all. This sort of close contact elicits…emotions…emotions Jeremy would rather not deal with at present.

“Remind me why we’re doing this?” Michael whines, and Jeremy lets out a soft smile aimed at the sky. 

“We promised Christine that we would, and I quote, “attend more extracurriculars and get involved,” so it was either this or anime club.”

“Okay, but anime club sounds really good right now.”

Jeremy chuckles at that. His brain works overtime to think of something funny in response but is interrupted by a pair of older students walking over to them. 

“Michael and Jeremy, right?” A dark-skinned girl with a confident demeanor addresses them first, “I’m the chaser captain. Name’s Rochelle. This is Abi, beater captain.” She points to the man standing next to her, a muscular, cool-headed guy with his arms crossed exuding the same attractive confidence. “We’re about to explain the positions, so hurry up if you want to know what the hell you’re doing.” She speaks with force but gives the two of them a smile, straddling the line of authority and friendliness. 

“And get back on your brooms. First week policy is that any time we see freshman without a broom between their legs, they all have to do an extra sprint.” Abi on the other hand is doing his best to exude pure authority, but there’s a kindness behind it that’s clearly unintentional. “And uh…you two wouldn’t want that, would you?” 

The brooms in question aren’t actually brooms. They’re PVC pipes with either caps or just duct tape on the ends to keep them from cutting your legs open. Despite being lighter and more ergonomic, Jeremy still struggles immensely to just stay on his. They’ve only done some warm-ups and drills so far, so he’s hoping that once he gets on the field it might to start to click, but right now the idea of going out there and tripping over himself is tying a knot in his stomach.

“R-right,” Jeremy stammers, “We’ll head over now.” He grabs his broom and immediately slots it between his thighs like Rochelle showed them earlier, getting up from the ground slowly to avoid tripping on it or putting anymore strain onto his legs. 

“Good.” Rochelle says, then turns to the other captain, “Abi, you go set up the hoops for the next drill. I’ll round up the rest of the rookies.”

As the pair walks in separate directions, Jeremy turns back to Michael to help him up. He’s shifted into a sitting position and looks to be following the beater captain with his eyes. 

_Wait, is he into that guy?_

“So yeah…” Jeremy’s face starts to heat up. He isn’t exactly sure why, just knows that it’s a nuisance and that he should probably take a second to breathe. “C’mon Michael, we got to get up.” 

“Help me,” Michael pouts, still not wanting to move. He extends a had that Jeremy grabs but doesn’t break eye contact with Abi the entire time.

“Do you like him?” The words are out before Jeremy can stop them.

“What?” Michael recoils, “Nah Jere, we literally just met him…I mean sure he’s handsome, but not really my type…” Michael starts to falter as Jeremy ignores the heat pooling at his temples, “and even if he was, just look at him, he’s completely jacked and like three years older than us. The dude’s completely out of my league.” 

Jeremy winces at that. It hurts to see his friend think so low of himself. “That’s not true dude, you’re a total catch. Any guy would be lucky to have you.” The words have never rung truer to Jeremy. Michael deserves nothing but the best. 

“Thanks,” Michael mutters. It’s soft but paired with a smile that’s very trademark Michael. Jeremy can’t help but feel that there’s something unspoken there, but perhaps it’s for the best. Jeremy’s just glad that his best friend accepted the compliment for once instead of brushing it off.

“Hey rookies,” a voice interrupts, “Put the water bottles down, quit flirting, and get over here!” It’s Rochelle. Jeremy puts aside the flirting comment in favor of doing what she says. He doesn’t want to make a bad impression in front of the captains. 

“Hey, can you put my water bottle away with yours?” Michael asks. Jeremy nods his head and grabs the bottle from Michael’s hand, “Thanks bud, you’re the best.” 

Jeremy jogs over towards the bags and takes a second to search for his. Scanning the bags, he spots the red pleather oh his own adorned with Rich’s handwriting, the word “boyf” fading, but still present after two years. He makes his way towards it but trips on a bottle of…Mountain Dew? 

_Weird._

Jeremy feels a phantom shock up his spine. Two months of losing control, losing his best friend, losing his sense of self all hit him at once. 

_It’s in the past. It’s not real. It’s in the past._

His throat feels like it’s closing, air sucked out from it over the course of a second. His breathing gets heavier as seconds tick by until he feels an arm around his waist. He jumps. 

“Jeremy, what’s wrong. It’s me Michael, what happened?” The voice feels distant, everywhere and nowhere all at once. “Oh shit.” Jeremy can’t bring himself to move his head, instead settling for the outline of Michael in his peripherals. He thinks the other boy is looking down at the ground, most likely at the bottle of Mountain Dew. “Jeremy. Listen to my voice okay. We’re going to inhale and count to six, alright?” 

“Hey, is he okay?” Jeremy hears another voice, but it’s muffled. 

“Yeah he’s fine, just his asthma acting up,” Michael responds. Jeremy has never been more grateful for a lie in his life. “I’m helping him with his inhaler. Just give him some space okay?”

Michael speaks to him again. “You ready, Jere?” 

_C’mon, get a grip._

“Yeah,” Jeremy chokes out. He grounds himself in Michael’s voice as the bigger boy starts counting. It takes a second, but between Michael guiding and his reassuring touch, he manages to get the hang of it and get himself down to baseline. 

“Thanks,” It’s all that Jeremy can say. He hopes it’s enough. 

“You okay to go back to practice or do you want to sit out?”

“Nah I’m fine. Let’s learn our positions. I really want to give this an honest shot.” Jeremy steels his resolve as tight as he can and walks towards the huddle of other players. He knows that at least some of them saw what just occurred but he does his best to pretend they didn’t. By sheer luck none of them aside from the captains push the issue, taking Michael’s lie at face value.  
“You good rookie?” Rochelle says to him. Jeremy nods, hoping he’s convincing. “We’re just going over the rules and positions, so feel free to take a breather as you listen. We’re not a super competitive team, and we do fast subs so don’t worry about it.” Rochelle does her best to reassure him. He appreciates it but wish she hadn’t called attention to it. Abi on the other hand is glaring at him. Jeremy can’t tell if it’s a glare of annoyance, distrust, confusion, but he doesn’t care much for it regardless.

“Alright, listen up. So, I know not everyone has read the books, so we’re going to do a brief run-down.” Jeremy is surprised that anyone would do this without actually liking Harry Potter but looking at some of the more athletic members of the team, it dawns on him just how much of a sport this really is. Rochelle starts explaining their positions, “Alright so chasers wear white headbands, beater wear black, keepers green, and seekers wear yellow. Chasers can only interact with the Quaffle, that’s the volleyball, while beaters can only interact with the Bludgers, the three dodgeballs.” With every second spent breaking it down, the game only seems to get more complicated

_This is a lot to take in._

“I like to think of it as big game of dodgeball where half the people are playing rugby,” Rochelle continues. Jeremy knows one of those sports, and he loathed it every second of gym class, so that doesn’t really help much either. “Alright we’re going to split you into chasers and beaters for now. Chasers will practice catching, passing, wrapping, and tackling. Beaters will go over the same, but trade passing for throwing.” 

“Which one do you want to do?” Michael whispers into his ear. 

“Uh, let’s try chasing. It seems a lot simpler than beating.” Jeremy answers, “Less balls to keep track of.” 

“Damn, that’s sad. You know how much I love handling balls.” 

“Fuck you Michael,” Jeremy is laughing now, all the tension from earlier fading away, “That pun is awful and you know it. 

“Yeah, but you love it regardless,” Michael quips, waggling his eyebrows up and down. 

As it turns out, Michael and Jeremy are actually not completely terrible at Quidditch, at least not as abysmal as they thought they would be. Their passing and catching could use some fine tuning, but the two have decent enough hand eye coordination to survive the onslaught during their respective drills, even with a broom between their legs. Well, at least compared to most of the other rookies they’re decent. Jeremy’s trying his best not to compare himself to other rookies all the time, but it’s a struggle. There are some rookies that are picking it up so easily, if he didn’t know any better he would think they were SQUIPed. 

Michael and Jeremy are however, some of the worst tacklers the team has ever seen. For Jeremy this makes sense, with his noodles arms he wasn’t surprised that most of his wraps were completely ineffective at stopping the keeper, but Michael on the other should have less trouble with this. 

“C’mon, I already explained this. You face them head on, grab them above the waist, avoid the neck up, and then drop yourself. It’s really simple.” Rochelle sent another veteran player, Jeremy thinks his name is Ben, to explain tackling since it’s not really her forte. Michael and Jeremy are practicing on each other and neither really seem to get it. 

“Like this?” Michael asks. He’s never looked this unsure of himself.

“Yeah, but lower. Spread your feet a little more and don’t throw your arm out like that as he’s coming, you’re going to break it that way.” 

“Oh, okay.” Michael corrects himself as Jeremy approaches him at half-speed. 

“No, see you’re scared of him. Don’t worry about the other guy. I know he’s a twig, but if your tackle is legal his chances of getting hurt are minimal.” 

Jeremy winces, but shakes it off. His body image is still a sensitive thing, but he’s not in the mood to have another episode like earlier. He’s too tired honestly. He looks at Michael and it’s clear he doesn’t like what Ben said. Jeremy mouths an _’It’s okay dude’_ to stop him from throwing a fist. Luckily Michael sees it and lets it go, instead doing his best to just follow the instructions. Unfortunately, Jeremy still slips through, wiry guy that he is. He isn’t sure, but he feels like there’s something else really bothering Michael, but now’s not the time. 

“Listen, I’m going to go help some other freshman, but keep practicing. I wanna see you both get a good one off before we line up for sprints.” 

“Ugh, great. More running.” Michael mutters. “After this we’re getting mozzarella sticks or something, I need something greasy and processed to make up for all this physical activity.” The stockier boy lets out a laugh and Jeremy chuckles in return. 

When practice ends they make their way back to the dorms, both boys desperately craving a shower and some food. 

“Hey dude, you good?” Jeremy asks. Michael isn’t quite himself, this Jeremy is sure of. 

“I’m fine dude, really.” Michael answers. It’s clearly rehearsed, but Jeremy doesn’t know how to push it so he asks something else. 

“So, what do you think? Should we come back again Thursday?” 

“Yeah, definitely.” Michael smiles at him, “Despite all the exercise I had a really great time. Especially being there with you.” 

A tension begins to mount. Both boys realize they’re staring and Jeremy, anxious as he is tries to break it. He backtracks, hoping to land on appropriate conversation topic, but get’s caught up on what Michael said earlier. “So, about before. What is your type exactly?” 

_What the hell Jeremy?_

“Okay, what’s with the sudden interest in my love life?” 

“Uh-uh, I-I don’t know,” Jeremy stammers, “It’s just you’ve never dated a guy beyond a few weeks, and well we’ve never really talked about this kind of thing, so I guess I just have no idea, which I guess makes me a shitty friend for not knowing you as well as I could and…” It all starts to blend into a messy ramble and he wishes that he just knew how to shut up whenever he gets like this. Thankfully Michael interrupts him. 

“Nah Jere, you’re anything but a shitty friend,” Michael puts a hand on his shoulder to reassure him, “And I mean, I guess I’m just waiting for the right guy to make a move is all.” A vague answer but Jeremy will take it. Pressing would just lead to more awkwardness. “What about you dude, anybody catch your eye? What about Rochelle, you think she’s pretty?” His voice is teasing. 

Now the spotlight is on Jeremy and he can’t help but feel that karma is giving him a wicked bite for no reason. 

_Serves me right for just blurting shit off the top of my head._

“Nah, no one right now,” Jeremy plays it off, hoping that if he can give a satisfactory answer to the second question he can avoid answering the first one. _Well there is someone, but I’m trying to avoid that train of thought thanks._ “And I mean yeah, definitely, but like totally out of my league, and you know the Christine thing is still kind of fresh, I don’t know if I’m ready for anything just yet.” 

Michael’s face falls for a brief second but he hides it well. As far as what Michael’s thinking Jeremy has no clue, unable to discern anything meaningful. Luckily, he speaks his mind instead, “Don’t say that dude. If I’m a catch than you’re a goddamn treasure, there are people all over looking for someone as fine as you.” 

Heat rises to Jeremy’s cheeks. Michael has always been loose and open with his compliments and Jeremy has ranged in how receptive he is. This time however, the sentiment really struck a chord. 

“Thanks Mikey,” Jeremy laughs as he fishes out the key to their room. “You’re the best.”


	3. Elevator Girls Have No Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rich deals with the SQUIP, Michael and Jeremy argue over music and memes, and someone gets a bludger to the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two chapters in one night, woooo!
> 
> I couldn't decide whether I wanted Rich's SQUIP to be Christian Slater a'la Heathers or Emma Roberts a'la American Horror Story, so I went with the one I thought was funnier I'm so sorry.

“Calibration in progress. Please excuse some mild discomfort.” 

Although Rich’s vision is limited to the darkness of a makeshift blindfold, he can make out the outline of woman bearing a vague resemblance to Emma Roberts. She tilts her head forward and suddenly becomes clearer, admiring her fluffy white coat and cocktail dress, seemingly pleased that she can take a semi-physical form again. 

“Fuck you, not again.” Rich starts to shake as an intense jolt goes down his spine. 

“Surprise bitch, I bet you thought…” she starts, but cuts herself off, “Actually scratch that, I can’t taunt you with stale references if I want to make you cool, now can I?” Rich grimaces but before he can say anything she peeps in, “Ooh, target…male inaccessible. We need to make some adjustments.”

“Oh, so now you have no problem with me liking dudes?” He goes to raise his fist but gets stuck, forgetting the zip-tie locking them in place. 

“You’re in college now Rich. Sexual attraction to men is no longer a barrier to increasing your social status.” 

“Was in college. I dropped out, didn’t you know? Or have you not leeched my brain of that memory yet?”

“For once in your life Rich, you’ve made a wise decision. Considering the state of your grades and your overall intellect, I can predict with a 90% confidence interval that you would’ve flunked out regardless.” 

“Fuck off, I was doing fine in my classes…it just wasn’t what I want…” He is interrupted by another sharp pain shooting up his spine.

“Calibration complete. Accessing neural memory. Accessing muscle memory.” Rich’s SQUIP condescends, “Really? Because if I’m accessing your memories correctly, you were failing general chemistry,” she checks her nails and laughs to herself, “That’s odd, I thought you were good at starting fires.” 

“You know what, you stupid has-been child actor, I’m not scared of your Madison Montgomery, evil queen schtick. I’ve seen far worse at home, far crueler at school, and frankly far better acting on the freaking CW, so just cool it.” Rich wants to continue his tirade, but he gets interrupted by a new voice. 

“I take it that you never learned how to just think to your SQUIP like a normal person.” It’s appears to be a woman’s voice, most likely his assailant. “And from what I can gather, you must be a real loser behind all those muscles. I can’t even fathom why you would let your SQUIP get deactivated.” 

“Because they’re a fucking bitch, that’s why. They ruined my life and treated me like garbage.” Rich yells out to the room in general, unsure if he’s even remotely facing the person speaking to him.

“That’s because we are garbage.” She smiles as she says it, completely sincere, or at least doing a damn good job of appearing to be, “But the SQUIPs make us less garbage. They fix us. I can’t imagine being without my SQUIP. I saved you Rich. We saved you.”

“How the hell do you know my name?”

“Our SQUIPS synchronized during the calibration process. Our goals are now aligned.” Though Rich can’t see her face, he can practically hear the brainwashed joy dripping from her voice.

“How did you even know I have a SQUIP?” 

“My SQUIP told me so. It can lock onto the location of other active SQUIPS. With yours being deactivated the signal was faint, but you stood close enough to me in the elevator that my SQUIP could lock on. 

_Of fucking course, just my luck_

In the distance he can hear the elevator slowing down and a loud ding announcing someone about to get off. 

“We need to hide you!” The voice squeals, before putting an arm on his shoulder. He moves to avoid it but gets a shock from his SQUIP. 

“Do as she says!” He almost forgot about the Emma Roberts clone in the corner of his vision, too focused on how cruel fate is at the moment. The pair of arms grip onto him again and this time he obliges, getting up on to his feet and moving at the voice’s behest. 

Suddenly he hears a door closing and despite already being blindfolded, his field of vision gets even darker. He’s busy thinking of a way to get out of this mess when he hears a familiar voice. 

‘Rich, you down here?” 

It’s Michael fucking Mell.

* * *

“What’s taking Rich so long?” Michael groans. He flips his fingers absently through the mass of CD’s, vinyl, and vintage cassettes he’s collected over the years, looking for an album that best matches his mood. “I want my Dr. Pepper!”

“Do you think he got lost?” Jeremy asks, checking his phone, “It’s been ten minutes.” 

“Maybe?” Michael picks up a CD and eyes it closely before putting it back in the pile, unsatisfied. “Should we send him a text, see where he’s at?”

“Already did. It says delivered but not seen.” 

“Weird.” Michael looks down at ground and furrows his brow, “Rich usually answers right away.”

“Should we check on him?” Jeremy looks up from his phone, a similar furrow of concern in his eyes. 

“Let’s just give him five more minutes, I’m sure he’s fine,” Michael tries to convince himself more than anyone else. “In the meantime, help me pick an album, dude. I need suggestions.” 

“Put on some Sufjan,” Jeremy suggests, “I’m in the mood for synth riffs and banjos.”

“Which Sufjan?” Michael asks. He’s not super into indie music like Jeremy is, preferring reggae and new wave from before 1990, but him and Jeremy have bonded recently over a mutual enjoyment of the singer-songwriter. “We own like five of his albums and they’re all different.”

“Songs for Christmas.” 

“Dude, it’s mid-November!” Michael sends a pointed glare at his friend. He has a strict no Christmas music before December 1st policy. 

“So?” 

“You don’t even celebrate Christmas, your family’s Jewish!” 

“So?” Jeremy repeats, either unfazed by the comment or determined to wear Michael down. He has that smirk he gets when he knows his friend about to cave. Michael refuses to give in this time.

“Nah dude, pick something else.” 

“Okay fine, Silver and Gold.”

“Dude!” Michael groans and shoots daggers at the other boy. He may have an insurmountable crush on Jeremy, but even that has its limits. 

“Specifically Disc 3, Christmas Infinity Voyage.”

“You know what Jere, fuck you!” Michael teases. There’s no malice to it, just some giggling and a hint of warmth. He grabs a flimsy, somewhat broken CD case with no label, just a string of word’s written in Michael’s chicken-scratch on the cover, “I’m playing a song just to spite you now.” 

“Michael no. What are you putting on?” 

“You’ll see.” Michael is playful as he says it, raising his eyebrows to intentionally elicit concern from his friend. He quickly makes his way over to the aging stereo on his desk. 

Jeremy immediately sits up, hoping to glean some info on how he’s about to be tortured. He gets a good look at the case in Michael’s hand when it dawns on him. “Is that the Sonic Adventure 2 soundtrack?”

“No…” Michael does his best to keep a poker face, but he objectively sucks at it. Jeremy may be oblivious, but Michael has enough tells that he even he can adequately read.

“Oh my god, you meme-loving fuck, it totally is.” Jeremy whines, “Why do you hate me?” He puts on the most innocent pout he can muster, hoping to get his way.

“C’mon Jere, don’t you dare sit there and pretend that City Escape isn’t an absolute banger.” Michael turns back to his friend and starts laughing, “Remember how much you loved it in fifth grade!” 

“I was 11!” 

“And now you’re 18. So?” Michael replies easily, playing Jeremy’s game from earlier. He hits the eject button on the boombox and is about to slot in the CD in when a pair of arms grab him from behind.

“Gotcha!” Jeremy yells, solidifying his grip on the stockier boy and bringing him to the ground. He might not be as big as Michael, but he’s fast and wiry and takes his best friend by surprise. 

“Stop it Jere, let me go!” Michael laughs aloud as he fights to free himself from the lankier boy, not really mad so much as shocked Jeremy could pull one over on him. The tactical stealth was impressive, albeit cheating in Michael’s mind, “Initial point of contact dude, no tackling from behind!” 

“I’ll let you go when you put on good music!” Jeremy starts giggling again as he grips tighter, “And what are you going to do, yellow card me?” Michael isn’t sure if he’s imagining it, but there’s an unspoken…quality to the way Jeremy says it. 

_Is he flirting with me?_

“Embrace the pop punk Jeremy, you know you want to!” Michael wiggles about until he’s free enough to flip himself around. He thinks if he can just face Jeremy head on he can gain the upper hand.

_Big mistake._

The laughter between the two stops abruptly, both boys opting to stare at each other instead. Michael looks deep into his best friend’s eyes, not sure exactly when or where he is in that moment. Jeremy’s staring back at him but his face is unreadable, a mix of emotions all too potent to pick apart. They stay like that, Jeremy stuck on his back, Michael too petrified to move, forwards or backwards. In a way the moment between them mirrors this. A transition is happening, one neither boy can put into words, but both can feel that something needs to break, either they go back or rush forward but staying like this will end horribly. 

_Should I just go for it?_

Michael gets his answer as a buzz goes off in Jeremy’s pocket.

“Um, I should get that…” Jeremy says, his voice trailing off. Michael is suddenly all too aware how close Jeremy’s phone is to Michael’s crotch. He immediately rolls off the other boy straight into the desk. 

“Ow,” Michael mutters out, “Who put that there?”

“Shit Mikey, you okay?” Jeremy turns to his side to see if Michael is hurt, but he waves him off.

“I’m fine Jere, really.” Michael reassures, “We really need to move this desk though, it’s clearly homophobic.” And like that the giggles are back, Jeremy doing his best to stifle them as he pulls out his phone. “Who’s texting you? Is it Rich? Ask him where’s my Dr. Pepper.” 

“Nah, it’s Christine.” Jeremy answers, “She’s going to be home for Thanksgiving next week and she wants to meet up.” 

Michael finds himself biting his tongue at that. Since the start of 9th grade, Michael has never known how to feel about Christine Canigula. He’s gone from resentful, to indifferent, to friendly, to incredibly close and back again more than a few times. Things only grew more complicated after her and Jeremy broke up. He felt anger at her for breaking his friend’s heart, concern for how she was handling the split, joy knowing that his friend would be mostly his again, and guilt, because god, who thinks that kind of thing?

“She says she wants to try and host a Friendsgiving with the whole SQUIP squad. You down?” 

Michael’s phone buzzes before he can answer. He fishes it out quickly and sees a text from Christine asking the same thing. It’s written with perfect grammar but punctuated with an emoji. 

“Yeah dude, of course. Anything for Christine.” It isn’t a lie. In the end, Christine has been nothing but kind to him. He can’t bring himself to be anything but kind in return. 

“Cool, I’ll let her know.” Jeremy says, then adds, “Who texted you? Rich or…?”

“Nah, just Christine asking me the same thing.” Michael knits his brows together before continuing, “It’s been five minutes, we really should go check on Rich.”

“Right, let’s head downstairs.”

* * *

“Rich, you down here?”

Michael has never really cared for the dormitory basement. It’s not the fact that it’s underground. God knows how much time he’s spent in his own basement at home. It’s not that it’s wet or unfinished, a lot of time has clearly gone into sealing and painting it. It’s just has this ominous vibe it has to it. He can’t shake the feeling that someone’s watching him anytime he’s here, hence why he always times his laundry trips with Jeremy’s, and other than that he steers clear of the place.

“Rich, you okay? It’s been like twenty minutes.” Jeremy calls out. Michael looks over and sees a furrow of concern knitted in the boy’s eyebrows. 

_He looks so cute when he’s worried._

_Damnit, focus Michael!_

Michael and Jeremy make a beeline for the vending machine. For all they know a snack got caught in the rings and he’s probably just shaking it loose right now. 

_Oh God…_

“Shit, Jere. What if he’s stuck under a vending machine right now? What if he’s dead right now and it’s all our fault for sending him down here? You know vending machine kill more people than sharks, coyotes, and bees combined?” 

“Relax Mikey, he’s probably just taking his time.” Jeremy reassures him, “And where the hell did you hear that statistic?” 

“It was on Discovery Channel.”

“Yeah, and so is Ice Road Truckers…” 

“Hey, that’s quality blue-collar themed melodrama and we both know it.” 

“I’m just saying that maybe we shouldn’t put all our trust in a channel that claimed humans don’t evolve anymore.” 

“Okay, no yeah that was a little ridiculous, and a gross oversimplification of Darwinian evolution, but I was a junior in high school, so cut me some slack…” A loud thump interrupts him. They both start walking toward the noise when they see a pile of snacks on the floor. 

“Dude…” Jeremy says, dumbstruck. In front of them there are two abandoned bags of Cheetos, a Dr. Pepper, an Orange Fanta, and a bag of Fritos. 

“That can’t just be a coincidence, can it?” Michael asks. 

“Nah dude, way too specific.” 

The thump comes back and louder this time, breaking them out of their stupor. 

“It’s coming from inside…the broom closet.” Michael whispers, a little too happy with himself for his lame reference despite being scared shitless at the moment. 

“Oh my god, fuck you Mell!” a voice groans out from the closet. 

“Rich?” Michael and Jeremy yell in unison. 

Before either boy can react, the closet door swings wide open. A very frazzled looking girl he thinks he recognizes from Freshman orientation comes barreling out of it along with a blindfolded, restrained, confused looking Rich Goranski right after her. The girl has a bottle of Mountain Dew in her hand and tiger-like glint of determination. 

“Wait, come back here and take off my blindfold, I can’t see shit!” Rich yells at the girl, barreling forward but running straight into the ratty dorm couch sitting between them and the door. 

“Rich, what happened to your lisp?” Jeremy immediately asks. Never the most tactful, but it’s a good question. 

“He’s been saved Jeremy. And now so will you!” The girl yells out, ripping the cap off her bottle and charging at Jeremy. 

_No…_

In that moment Michael makes a decision.

He runs in front of the lankier boy, forming a human shield from the liquid doom. As the girl closes in, he steadies himself, fixes glasses, and steels his nerves. 

_Here goes nothing._

Michael grips her by the waist, pulls tight, and drops himself to the floor. The liquid goes spilling onto the ground, thankfully as far as away from Jeremy as possible. 

“Jere, run!” Michael yells out, “I think she’s been SQUIPed. Rich too. You need to get the hell out of here.”

“Nah Mikey, not without you and Rich.” Jeremy yells. He’s moving to the edge of the room, clearly something has caught his eye. “I’m not abandoning you, not again.” 

Michael is suddenly taken back. Taken back to a panic attack in someone else’s bathroom. To a cafeteria table alone by himself. To his front porch, sitting pants-less while bonding with Mr. Heere. 

To an apology after the play that couldn’t fix anything, but sure damn was a good start.  
In his stupor, the girl he wrestled to the ground breaks free from his grip and starts reaching for the half empty bottle. 

“Go Jeremy! You have to leave…”

His voice gets cut short as he sees a dodgeball fly across the room and chucked right at the girl’s head. 

She falls flat on her face, unmoving.

“Dude, did you just face-beat her!” Michael yells energized by his friend’s action. 

He looks over at Jeremy who’s sporting his trademark confused look. God, he loves that look. “Uh yeah I guess I did?” Jeremy answers before adding, “Wait shit, is she okay?” 

Michael looks over, similar concern painting his features. He gets up quickly and checks her wrists for a pulse. “Uh, she’s not dead, just unconscious.” 

“Thank god,” Jeremy lets out a sigh of relief, “No shit, wait, she could have traumatic brain injury. We need to get her medical attention!” 

“Right…” Michael says, “No yeah, you’re right, we can’t just leave her here. She might’ve attacked us but we’re not monsters,” he brushes some dirt and drool off his hoodie and gets up from the floor, “This isn’t a Zack Snyder movie.”

“Uh, hello? Anyone going to untie me?” A very upset looking Rich yells out at the wall, still blindfolded and disoriented. 

“Should we untie him?” Michael looks at his friend, eyes searching for an answer. 

“No, if his SQUIP has been reactivated it means he doesn’t have control over his body. He might attack us like the girl.” Jeremy adds. Michael can see the fear in his eyes. It’s like looking at pre-SQUIP Jeremy dealing with bully Rich. It’s frightening to say the least. 

Michael fishes out his phone, a plan already in mind, “I think we need to call Jake.”


End file.
